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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392459">Nothing Was The Same</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TweekTweak/pseuds/TweekTweak'>TweekTweak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TweekTweak/pseuds/TweekTweak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of little children run past me, laughing and enjoying the last of the good weather before Autumn comes to chase it, and I feel a stab of envy somewhere deep inside myself, longing for the innocence of my youth before it was ripped away from me prematurely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Reimagine of a MCR fic I wrote when I was 13 (it was very bad, and a lot of the plot has been changed for this including several huge plot points). Trigger warning for rape.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I sighed deeply as the street lamps flickered on, flooding the footpath in artificial amber pools. Letting the fresh summer air fill my lungs, I told myself that I would just stay at the park for another five minutes; back then I was still brimming with childhood naivety, convincing me that murderers and child molesters only existed in television dramas, and the six o’clock news, and newspaper headlines printed in bold, black ink. And, of course, bad things only happened to strangers.</p>
<p>Yes, I lived in South Park, where dead bodies were sometimes dragged from the murky waters of the river, and where the off licenses were robbed or shot up every other week, but still, I convinced myself that <em>I</em> was safe. Of course my mum wouldn’t mind if I was a little late home; I was ten years old now - a big boy! What was an extra hour of so?</p>
<p>I felt as though I ruled the playground, my rusting iron kingdom - deserted after all the other children trailed off home, leaving me here all by myself. My best friend Clyde was the last to leave, about half an hour ago, after failing to convince me to do the same.</p>
<p>“See you tomorrow, Craig!” he waved reluctantly, before trotting off in the direction of the warmth of his family home.</p>
<p>Somehow the chilly breeze of late August felt more like home than the house I shared with my family, and as I swung higher and higher towards the darkening skies, I closed my eyes and imagined that I was flying. Maybe I was pretending that I was soaring through the air, or maybe I was just an innocent child unaware of what was to come.</p>
<p>Eventually, after several broken promises of ‘five more minutes’, I dragged my feet along the tarmac and grounded myself. Mum would be so proud of me; I stayed out late, without getting into trouble like the neighbours’ kids so often did! The sky was suddenly so much blacker, though, and the wailing of the creaky metal gate sent a shiver running up my spine as it swung closed behind me.</p>
<p>The night was colder now, as I followed the stone path in the direction of my house. The dark waters of Stark’s Pond rippled from beyond tall reeds, as I side stepped past rotting takeaway cartons and crushed beer cans, vaguely aware that I could hear another set of footsteps somewhere behind my own. The leaves on the path crunched softly as he walked, and I tried to pretend the noise didn’t bother me as I quickened my own pace.</p>
<p>Maybe I thought I was being silly - this was a public footpath, after all. Why shouldn’t another be following it as the night set in? Still, as I turned off onto a side street and found myself plunged into darkness I felt my breath hitching deep inside my chest.</p>
<p>Something crunched under my feet, sending a cat skittering out from behind some bins, and I all but screamed.</p>
<p>It was only when I stopped to regain composure that I realised something; the other set of footsteps had stopped too. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I could almost feel the burn of unfamiliar eyes boring into me. Tensely, I started walking again, telling myself there would be some kind of reasonable explanation - the stranger had probably just stopped to tie their shoelaces, or something. Still, my heart continued pounding and my ears pricked.</p>
<p>There were footsteps again; rhythmical, in step with my own. I thought about my mum, and how she would be sitting up at home waiting for me; I thought about Clyde, who would be tucked up in bed by now, fast asleep; hell, I even thought about my dad, though I doubt he was thinking of me.</p>
<p>I carried on down the alleyway, the bright lights of the main road fast approaching. Maybe I almost made it.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>The sound of my own screaming still rings deep inside my ears. I can still feel unfamiliar fingers tightening around my skinny arms, see two shiny eyes glinting menacingly in the low light. It was dark, but I could still make out his mouth, curling upwards into a sick sneer as he shoved me hard against the cold brick wall of the alley.</p>
<p>Paralysed in fear, feeling warm tears running down my pale cheeks, I felt as though I was watching myself on a flickering movie screen. The stranger didn’t seem to notice - or care - that I was crying and kicking and scared, as he forced himself upon me. Calloused hands wandered anywhere and everywhere that they could, and after a while I watched myself stop fighting, instead clamping my eyes tightly shut and praying to wake up from the nightmare I was trapped in.</p>
<p>It was no dream though, and it seemed like hours had passed by the time he was finished. When he finally pulled his trousers back up and shoved me hard to the ground, I was so relieved and so exhausted that I could have spent the rest of the night on the dirty asphalt.</p>
<p>The sound of a man’s cold laugh, devoid of any humour, echoed down the alleyway as he left me shivering on the damp ground, and I don’t know how much time had passed before I finally opened my eyes and noticed the small white card that was lying in the dirt nearby.</p>
<p>In the darkness I couldn’t tell what the card was, so instead I tucked it safely into the pocket of my track pants, before pulling myself shakily to my feet.</p>
<p>The walk home was painful as I trudged slowly onwards, trying to ignore the stinging in my bones and the fear of what my parents might think. Tears dripped from my eyes and my legs felt like they might melt out from beneath me as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.</p>
<p>When I finally reached my front gate I could see the silhouette of my mum behind the net curtain, and the front door flew open before I could even make it up the path.</p>
<p>And then there I was; wrapped up in my mum’s arms, and she was crying, and my dad was yelling, and suddenly I couldn’t find the words to tell them what had happened. What would they think? My dad didn’t like <em>fags </em>- that’s what he called Johnny and Bill who lived down the road (together, like mum and dad, except they’re both dads) - and he already had enough reasons to yell at me every evening.</p>
<p>Or maybe they wouldn’t believe me at all. Dad didn’t like when I told tales, and my body was already aching; the last thing I needed was a smack on the bottom when I already felt like my mum’s tight hug was all that was keeping me from complete collapse.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Craig!” she sobbed, her cheeks wet with tears before she’d even opened the door. “Don’t you <em>ever </em>do that to me again! It’s <em>midnight,</em> Craig! Thank god you’re okay!”</p>
<p>I was far from okay.</p>
<p>“Explain yourself,” Dad grunted crossly, and I felt my knees trembling.</p>
<p>“I- I lost track of time,” I heard myself say, before mum whisked me off upstairs, still in floods of tears, dad still shouting in the hallway.</p>
<p>The tender kiss she pressed to my forehead that night felt like a sticking plaster on a broken leg, and when she and dad were safely tucked away in their own bed, I found myself staring at my bedroom ceiling until the small hours of the morning.</p>
<p>Just as the sun was beginning to peer over the horizon and in through my bedroom window, I snuck out of bed and retrieved my discarded track pants from the hamper. Reaching into the pocket, my fingers closed around the small card the man in the alley had dropped, and when I pulled it out and looked properly, I inhaled sharply.</p>
<p>This was the man’s ID card.</p>
<p>When I got a good look at him, I could have been physically sick; his greying hair was greasy, his ugly features pulled into the standard passport photo poker face. I didn’t miss the dark glint in his cold eyes, and it sent a chill running up my spine. I decided to look away, instead turning my attention to the name.</p>
<p>
  <em>Herbert Garrison.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I feel as though my past is haunting me, waiting until I’m alone to sneak up on me, memories constricting round my throat in nightmarish tendrils, choking the breath from my lungs.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunlight blinds me as I wake up, and I sigh, diving back underneath the soft comforter and praying that it might swallow me entirely. I’m just beginning to doze off again when the bed dips beside me, as my mum sits down and shakes me gently.</p><p>“Craig… Craig, it’s time to get up now, love,” she murmurs, and I groan as I realise today is my first day back at school. For a moment I consider feigning illness, but eventually I grunt and emerge from beneath my duvet.</p><p>“Breakfast’s on the table, sweetheart,” she smiles warmly, before standing to leave the room, “I’ll leave you in peace.”</p><p>Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I slide out of bed and pad towards my dresser to find some clothes, settling on a pair of skinny jeans and wrestling them up over my thighs. I hate skinny jeans, but somehow the tight denim provides a sense of comfort that sweatpants haven’t since I was ten; I was wearing sweats <em>that </em>night, all those years ago, and they were easy, too easy, for the strange man to rip from my skinny legs. Never again.</p><p>Digging my fingernails into my palms harshly, I try to think about anything else but that night, and it almost works.</p><p>xxxxx</p><p>As I make my way to school, <em>that </em>day creeps back into my conscious mind, and I shove my headphones into my ears in an attempt to drown out my thoughts. I feel as though my past is haunting me, waiting until I’m alone to sneak up on me, memories constricting round my throat in nightmarish tendrils, choking the breath from my lungs.</p><p>I turn the volume up until I’m sure even the woman walking on the other side of the street can hear the angry screams of my music, and continue pushing my beaten up old skateboard down the road, not stopping until I reach the wrought iron gates of my school.</p><p>Skidding to a halt, I pick up my board and take a deep breath before clearing the gates; I really hate school, and if I was anyone else but me I might have skipped for the day. Since <em>that </em>night, though, I’ve tried to avoid open spaces as much as possible. Anyone could be lurking around the next corner, hiding in the shadows waiting to pounce, and, no matter how much it sucks, maths class is a safe respite from the strangers in the streets.</p><p>The dark, sadistic eyes of Herbert Garrison flicker into the front of my mind, burned into my memory even now, and a shiver runs up my spine as I feel he could be watching me as I hurry inside the school building, seeking the comfort of lockers and music class and not having to worry until the three o’clock bell.</p><p>After registration I make my way to my English classroom, taking a seat right at the back in the hopes of remaining relatively anonymous for the year. I like it better that way; if people can’t see me, then surely they can’t hurt me, right?</p><p>As students begin to file into the classroom I stare down towards the graffiti on my desk, praying that whoever takes the seat beside me will be relatively bearable for the next two semesters. Someone slumps down into the chair, but I still don’t look up until they speak.</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>I recognise the voice of Clyde, and breath a sigh of relief, finally tearing my eyes away from ‘<em>Brad loves Tiffany’</em>.</p><p>“Hi, Clyde,” I nod.</p><p>“Great to be back, eh?” he rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Hey, it’s fine for you!” I grunt; Clyde has always done well in school. Then again, he probably understands most of the shit that the teachers spout, unlike me; somehow, finding the square root of whatever doesn’t seem so important when you’re haunted by those cold, cold eyes.</p><p>Still, Clyde is a good friend, and is always willing to spend time helping me with my homework, otherwise I’d probably be stuck in a Support For Learning classroom right now with the rest of the stupid kids in my year.</p><p>After the second bell rings everyone is seated, but Miss Campbell still isn’t present, which I find odd; normally she was a very eager teacher, and was almost always in class early. Still, the roar of chatter overcomes the classroom as everyone catches up after the summer break.</p><p>Suddenly, the door flies open and a strangely familiar man enters the room. I can’t place him.</p><p>The chat begins to die down as he picks up a marker pen from Miss Campbell’s desk and makes his way to the whiteboard, scrawling two words messily on it. I don’t get the chance to read them, though, as he immediately steps in front of the board, placing his hands on his hips.</p><p>“Good morning, class,” he greets, sounding as though he’d rather be anywhere else.</p><p>“I thought we had Miss Campbell for English?” someone pipes up, and the man’s lip curls a little.</p><p>“I’m afraid Miss Campbell is in hospital,” he answers, sounding as though the thought quite delights him, “And won’t be back for the foreseeable future.”</p><p>No one says anything.</p><p>“Okay?” he asks, sharply.</p><p>Everyone nods quickly, still quiet until a girl at the front of the room raises her hand tentatively.</p><p>“What?” the teacher grunts.</p><p>“What, uh, happened to her?” the girl asks, sounding a little scared - I can understand why; this man doesn’t exactly scream sunshine and unicorns. “Is she okay?”</p><p>“I don’t like questions in my classroom,” the man responds sharply, waving the girl’s questions off. “So, today we’ll just be getting to know each other; let’s all introduce ourselves. We’ll start with you,” he gestures to the girl who spoke previously. “Tell me anything about yourself.”</p><p>She begins telling the class about her summer, and I allow myself to zone out, until suddenly a sharp elbow is digging hard into my ribs.</p><p>“Craig!” Clyde hisses, “It’s your turn!”</p><p>“Oh,” I say, stupidly, “Um, I’m Craig Tucker, and I-,” I stop talking, trying to think of anything interesting about myself and coming up blank. “Uh-.”</p><p>The teacher raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Um-,” I continue, “I’m- just Craig.”</p><p>The man rolls his eyes, but thankfully moves on to Clyde.</p><p>I look up at the teacher, not paying any attention to whatever Clyde is saying beside me. I still feel as though I recognise the man, but from where I don’t know.</p><p>Eventually everyone in the class has introduced themselves, and the teacher begins speaking again. “Well,” he starts, “Now that I know who’s who, you should all know what I expect from you this year. I expect <em>all </em>homework assignments and essays to be handed in on time; I do <em>not </em>want any doodling on your jotters; and I want all noise to be kept at an appropriate level in my classroom.”</p><p>There’s a smattering of halfhearted agreement in the room.</p><p>“Also,” the teacher continues, “I would like one student to stay behind each day to help me tidy my classroom.”</p><p>This time there’s an audible groan.</p><p>“And today,” the teacher continues, “I would like-,” he scans the room, before his eyes fall upon me, “‘Just’ Craig, to stay behind.”</p><p>Just my luck.</p><p>The teacher turns to the clock. “Well,” he says, “There’s only ten minutes left of this period… why don’t you all talk amongst yourselves?”</p><p>The class relaxes, suddenly deciding that maybe the new English teacher isn’t so bad, and a loud chatter breaks out. The teacher sits down at his desk, folding his arms and watching the class, and suddenly he’s smirking at me and I realise that I’ve been staring at him. I look away quickly, turning to talk to Clyde.</p><p>“‘Just’ Craig?” he chuckles, shaking his head, “You should have told him how good you are at playing bass, or something!”</p><p>I shrug, and he smiles.</p><p>“So, what do you think of him?”</p><p>“I dunno,” I reply, “He seems a bit…”</p><p>I stop, and turn to look at the teacher again. His eyes are still on me, and I feel my cheeks flush a little as I look away. I <em>know </em>I recognise him from somewhere, and yet I still can’t place him.</p><p>“Sir?” someone pipes up from the front of the room, suddenly.</p><p>“Yes?” the teacher asks, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“You never told us your name.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, waving his arm in the direction of the whiteboard, and it’s only when I look up and read those two words I couldn’t before that it hits me.</p><p>The face from the ID card I picked up all those years ago, is now standing at the front of this classroom. His hair greyer, his face older, but it’s definitely him. Herbert Garrison, my new English teacher; the same man who raped me all those years ago, in that damp, dark alleyway when I was ten years old.</p><p>And he expects me to stay here after school with him.</p><p>Fear washes over me, flooding my system, and I feel my muscles tense. My insides twist agonisingly, and I’m worried that I might vomit, but there’s nowhere for me to go.</p><p>“Craig?” I hear Clyde’s concerned voice from beside me, “Craig, you okay, dude?”</p><p>I look up at him and shake my head, my breathing suddenly erratic and uneven. I’m trapped, stuck between the chipped, peeling paint of the wall and Clyde’s broad shoulders, and Mr Garrison is still watching me, and I need to get out of here <em>now</em>.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Clyde places a tentative arm around me, though it provides little comfort.</p><p>“I… I can’t… I…”</p><p>Feeling as though I’m about to faint, I’m mercifully saved by the bell, and I grab my schoolbag and my skateboard and bolt from the room. Clyde rushes after me, as I battle my way through the crowds of teenagers still bursting into the corridor, desperate to get away from <em>that </em>man.</p><p>“Do you need to go to the nurses office?” he asks when he catches up to me, and I shake my head, finally stopping to collapse against the wall.</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” I manage, Mr Garrison’s smirking face still burning into the front of my brain.</p><p>“Want to tell me what’s up?” he asks, and I shrug.</p><p>“I… I just felt a bit dizzy,” I answer, “I’ll be alright.”</p><p>There’s no way in hell I can tell Clyde what’s really up; I couldn’t even tell my parents the night that it happened, for God’s sake! Maybe if I had, Herbert Garrison would be rotting in a prison cell now, instead of teaching my fucking English class.</p><p>Maybe I’m not to blame, and maybe it wasn’t my own fault for staying out later than I should have that night, but fuck if my mind hasn’t warped itself into blaming me. Something stopped me from opening my mouth and spilling it all that night, and now it’s too late; maybe I was too ashamed, too embarrassed about what happened. Maybe if I’d just made my curfew it wouldn’t have happened at all.</p><p>xxxxx</p><p>Fiddling with a loose thread on my jeans, I must spend at least ten minutes debating whether I should knock on Mr Garrison’s classroom door or just make a run for it instead. Several times I turn to leave, then turn back again and stare at the door, wondering if I dare find out what lies beyond it.</p><p>Breath shaky, I eventually give the door a single, quiet knock, praying that Mr Garrison has forgotten about me and left the building already, but of course he hasn’t and the door flies open as quickly as I’d knocked. The teacher seems to tower over my frame, looking down at me with a small smile playing on his lips.</p><p>“Come in, Just Craig,” he invites pleasantly.</p><p>I don’t return his smile as I shuffle into the classroom, standing awkwardly and chewing one of my fingernails as I wait for further instructions. He closes the classroom door, and I feel my heart rate pick up as he turns to face me. What have I done? Why didn’t I make a run for it as soon as the final bell rung?</p><p>I avoid making eye contact, and instead practically burn a hole into the toes of my Converse with my gaze.</p><p>“So, Craig,” Mr Garrison begins, “How was your first day back?”</p><p>Finally I look up at the man, perched atop one of the desks with his legs crossed and a broad smile on his face.</p><p>“… Alright, I guess,” I mumble, and thankfully he seems satisfied with my answer.</p><p>“Good, good. Now, I’d like you to clean my whiteboard and sweep the floor, while I get on with some marking.”</p><p>He stands and moves to take a seat at his desk, and I wordlessly get on with the tasks I’ve been assigned, hoping to be finished and out of here as soon as humanely possible. I attack the lesson plan from final period with a paper towel, then set about brushing the dirty carpet while he hums quietly from the front of the room. I recognise the theme song to some stupid late-night show.</p><p>Going over the carpet as quickly as I can, desperate to be freed from the enclosed classroom, I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m being watched. Looking up from the floor, I spot Mr Garrison’s dark eyes boring into me, and raise an eyebrow uncomfortably.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Craig,” he answers, “I suggest you get on with cleaning the carpet. I’m sure you’d like to get home to your internets and iPods and whatever else you young people are into.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” I agree, sweeping the last of the dirt into the dustpan and emptying it into the bin quickly. “Can I go now, sir?”</p><p>“You may,” Mr Garrison says, and I bolt out of his classroom, collapsing against the wall in the corridor, before sinking to the ground and feeling as though I might pass out.</p><p>Eventually I pull myself up from the floor, worried that Mr Garrison could leave his classroom at any given moment. Not wanting to see his face again, it’s not until I’m stomping down the corridor and out of the building that I realise something - he probably doesn’t recognise me, probably doesn’t realise that I’m the same little boy he assaulted all those years ago. <em>He</em> doesn’t, but <em>I </em>do, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish my final two years of high school if I have to look at him every day.</p><p>For a while I just skate, letting my board carry me away from the school building and away from that man, until I find myself halfway home, right on the middle of the bridge. Dragging my foot along the ground, I skid to a halt and lean over the metal barrier, watching the river coursing below me and wondering what the hell I’m going to do. I could ask to change classes - drop English for something stupid like Photography or Introduction to Hairdressing, but the school office staff have always been very anal when it comes to timetabling matters, and somehow I doubt I’ll be allowed to swap now.</p><p>Sighing and wondering how I’m going to make it through this year with Mr Garrison’s dark, empty eyes boring into me, it’s not until sharp pain is coursing through my wrist that I realise I’ve slammed my fist into the railings.</p><p>“Fuck!” I curse, “Fuck my fucking life!”</p><p>Turning away from the churning waters, I kick off again and continue skating across the bridge and up the street, passing neat gardens and brick houses tucked safely behind picket fences. A group of little children run past me, laughing and enjoying the last of the good weather before Autumn comes to chase it, and I feel a stab of envy somewhere deep inside myself, longing for the innocence of my youth before it was ripped away from me prematurely.</p><p>Carving round a corner and onto my street, I breathe a sigh of relief; home is a safe haven, and I can almost pretend that school tomorrow is a lifetime away. At least, until I spot three familiar figures walking in my direction. I’m not yet sure if they’ve noticed me or not, so I pull my hood up over my head and push my board harder, hoping that they’ll just continue walking past me.</p><p>“Emo!”</p><p>I pretend not to hear them.</p><p>“Oi! Emo fag! Don’t fucking ignore us!”</p><p>I skate faster and faster, my home in sight.</p><p>“<em>Faggot!”</em></p><p>Praying that I’ll reach my house before they reach me, the three bear ever closer, sneers distorting their ugly faces. My front garden is barely a hundred years ahead when a hand wraps tightly around one of the straps of my backpack, stopping me dead and sending my board skittering out from beneath me, rolling down the pavement and crashing to a stop in a patch of grass.</p><p>“Oof!” I grunt as I fall to the ground, before looking up into the smirking faces of Stan, Kyle, and Eric.</p><p>“Well, well, if it isn’t little Craig!” Eric sneers. “Where have you been the last few weeks, Tucker? We <em>missed </em>you!”</p><p>I don’t reply. Someone pulls me to my feet.</p><p>“<em>Well?</em>” I feel a sharp index finger dig into my ribs, “I’m talking to you!”</p><p>“I was staying at my dad’s house,” I reply blankly, and Eric chuckles.</p><p>“We have so much to catch up on!” he grins widely, and suddenly his fist is slamming into my gut, with Stan and Kyle each taking hold of one of my arms. My legs want to stagger backwards, but there’s nowhere for me to go as another punch strikes me square in the face. I feel hot, salty blood running down over my top lip as my nose and eyes sting, and this time the two holding me let go as I stumble, leaving me to fall straight back to the ground.</p><p>Three trainer clad feet collide with my ribs, knocking the wind from my chest, and I hear their cold laughs as I splutter for air. Kyle grabs a handful of my hair and forcefully pulls me to my feet. I yelp, feeling a few bitter tears spill from my eyes as the three continue throwing punches all over me, and I try to pretend that I’m anywhere else but here.</p><p>Eventually the three seem to grow bored, and knock me to the dirt again. I watch as Eric pulls a rubbish bin from Mrs Jackson’s driveway, and before I have a chance to escape he’s upturning it, tipping the contents all over me before stalking off, dragging Stan and Kyle with him. Brushing a banana peel, a crisp packet, and something disgustingly slimy from my clothes, I stay sprawled on the pavement for a minute, listening to the sound of my attackers’ laughter fading into the distance.</p><p>“Craig?”</p><p>I jump when I hear my name, and look up, finding myself met with a pair of concerned, bright green eyes.</p><p>“What do you want?” I splutter, dragging myself to my feet, ignoring the pain coursing through my system. I back away from the stranger a little.</p><p>“Craig, what happened?” the stranger sounds worried, and I feel a little annoyed despite myself.</p><p>“Take a wild fucking guess,” I growl, brushing myself down and wiping the blood from my nose.</p><p>“Who did this?” he asks, waving a hand towards the emptied rubbish bin.</p><p>“Uh-,” I avoid his question, “I have to go.”</p><p>The stranger offers me a small smile, “Alright. Make sure you have a shower, because the shit from that bin really stinks!”</p><p>I feel a hand pat my shoulder, before the stranger takes off past me down the street. I watch him for a minute, waiting for him to turn a corner before I retrieve my skateboard from the side of the road and drag my weary bones home.</p><p>Finally arriving home, bones heavy and eyes tired, I toss my school bag and my skateboard down in the furthest corner of my bedroom and turn on my Spotify, cranking my music up loud. Peeling off my filthy clothes and dropping them into the hamper, I trudge through to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I let the hot water wash over me, stinging a little as it hits my bloodied nose and the bruises forming dark against my pale skin, and for a moment I wish I could just drown myself in the cascading water so I never have to face Eric and his gang, or Mr Garrison ever again.</p><p>Through the steam and rushing water I can hear the piercing screams and chugging guitar of my music, and I let it soothe me as I flick open the cap of my shower gel and try to mask the bruises and bitter memories with the scent of pomegranates.</p><p>After I’ve showered I return to my room and collapse into the soft welcoming embrace of bedsheets; fuck, I’d forgotten how much of a challenge high school can be, even without Mr Garrison’s dark eyes on me. I let my guard down over the summer break, and now I need to rebuild my walls higher this time. Clamping my eyes tightly shut, I try to focus on my music, letting it fill my system and clear my mind, and eventually my breathing calms just a little. Mumbling along to my favourite band, I don’t hear the front door closing downstairs, and all but jump out of my skin when my mum pokes her head around my bedroom door.</p><p>“Hi, Craig!” she greets me, “How was your first day ba- Oh god!” her face falls, as she evidently catches sight of my beaten, bruised face. “Craig, what happened?” she sounds horrified, and I groan audibly.</p><p>“Mum, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”</p><p>“Darling, it’s not <em>nothing</em>! Your poor nose is all swollen up! Let me get you some ice, or-“</p><p>“Honestly, mum, I’m fine!” I grunt, and she sighs.</p><p>“I worry about you, Craig,” she says, but thankfully relents. “Anyway, I meant to tell you last night - a new family have moved into the neighbourhood, and I’ve invited them round for dinner. They have a son around your age, so I’d like you to change into something presentable before they get here!”</p><p>I consider protesting, before looking down at the clothes I pulled on after my shower, stained red with pasta sauce and a little blood.</p><p>“Yeah, alright.”</p><p>Mum smiles at me, before leaving me to dig around in my drawers. I even make an effort to drag a comb through my dark hair, just in time for the doorbell to buzz, and mum to call from the kitchen, “Craig, could you get the door?”</p><p>Wondering what the new neighbours will be like, I open the front door and find myself met with a pair of familiar green eyes.</p><p>“Hey, Craig!” the boy greets, and I close my mouth which has somehow fallen open.</p><p>“Uh, hi.”</p><p>There are three people standing on our front step; the boy who not two hours ago watched me brushing mouldy orange peels from my hair, and two adults who I assume to be his parents.</p><p>“Good afternoon, son,” the man greets me, “You must be Craig? Your mum invited us for dinner!”</p><p>“Um, right,” I say, before stepping aside to let them in, “Come in. Uh, the living room is just down the hall,” I wave my hand in the general direction, “My mum will be through in just a minute.”</p><p>The two adults make their way towards the sitting room, however their green eyed son holds back, turning to flash me a grin.</p><p>“Isn’t this a coincidence?” he laughs, and I shrug.</p><p>“Uh, sure. Don’t you want to go through to the living room?”</p><p>“Aw!” he sounds disappointed, “Don’t you want to show me your bedroom?”</p><p>“Not particularly,” I answer truthfully, ignoring the cheeky wink he shoots me, and the boy pouts, before tailing after his parents in the direction of our living room.</p><p>Returning to the safety of my bedroom, I turn my music up louder, not caring what the neighbours or our guests might think, and dive under my covers. I wish my mum hadn’t invited this family round, and I wish their son hadn’t seen me sprawled in the dirty gutter, beaten and covered in trash; what must he think of me? Maybe I can pretend to be unwell, and mum will bring me dinner in bed and not force me to socialise with these strangers.</p><p>“Craig!” I hear my mum’s voice piercing through the angry screams of my music, as she opens my bedroom door and pokes her head into the room, “Craig, I’ve been calling you! Dinner’s ready!”</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t hear,” I shrug, and she narrows her eyes. “Can I eat in here?”</p><p>“No,” she answers, and I can tell the matter isn’t up for discussion, “Come through to the dining table.”</p><p>There’s no point arguing, so I reluctantly follow her down to the family room, taking a seat at the packed dinner table, and staring down at my plate pointedly. I can feel green eyes burning into me, and I scowl a little.</p><p>Mum brings dinner through from the kitchen, setting a bowl of salad and a large pepperoni pizza down on the table, and I busy myself with eating a slice so I don’t have to talk to these strangers.</p><p>“So, Craig,” the man greets me, “You and Tweek must be in the same year at school?”</p><p>“I’m in the fifth year,” the green eyed boy adds helpfully, and I shrug.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess so.”</p><p>“I saw you in French class, today.”</p><p>“Oh.” I’m in no mood to discuss formalities with this boy, nor do I want to think about school again tonight.</p><p>I take another bite of pizza, and mum decides to apologise on my behalf, claiming that I’m rude, and full of teenage angst, and whatever else. I listen quietly as the four discuss work, and my performance in school, and <em>Tweek</em>’<em>s</em> performance in school, and television, and music, and all the other menial crap that normal people like to talk about.</p><p>As soon as I’ve choked down three slices of pizza, I excuse myself and dart back upstairs to my bedroom to block out the rest of the world until tomorrow, breathing a sigh of relief when I hear my mum waving the strangers out of the door a couple of hours later. Finally, my safe haven is mine again.</p><p>Closing my eyes and letting music fill my ears, it’s almost like everything in the world is okay. Almost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maybe people think I’m scary; a tough scowling kid, blocking out the world with headphones and a glare, but little do they know the scary can be the most scared.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Craig!” my mum’s voice cuts away the remnants of whatever dreams I’d been having, and I groan as I’m dragged back into consciousness.</p>
<p>“What, mum?” I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and emerging from beneath my duvet.</p>
<p>“Good morning, darling,” she smiles, far too cheerful for this time of day, before immediately frowning at me, “How are you feeling today?”</p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p>It’s almost the truth, though I can still feel pain throbbing deep inside my nose, and the heavy air of the impending school day has already set in, suffocating me.</p>
<p>Mum then breaks out into a scolding, telling me I shouldn’t be rude when we have company, and demanding to know why I lock myself away all the time, and whatever else. I find myself zoning out, preoccupied with the thought of having English with Mr Garrison fifth period.</p>
<p>“So,” Mum eventually changes the subject, “Would you like to tell me about how you got those bruises, now?”</p>
<p>“No,” I answer tartly.</p>
<p>“Craig, you know you can trust me with anything,” she says, sounding a little upset, and I sigh.</p>
<p>“Mum,” I say, “I can’t.”</p>
<p>She looks upset.</p>
<p>“Honey, I was a teenager once too, you know? Have you and Clyde had a little falling out, is that it?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Have you fallen out with one of your other friends?”</p>
<p>“Mum,” I groan, wishing I was anywhere else, “I don’t <em>have </em>any other friends.”</p>
<p>Suddenly her expression changes, and she all but ignores my previous statement, bursting out, “Is it girl troubles?” she asks excitedly, “I’m sure I’d be able to help if-.”</p>
<p>God, I hate family.</p>
<p>“It <em>is</em>, isn’t it?” Mum sounds delighted, “Is there another boy fighting you for her affection? What’s she like? Are you friends with her? What’s her name, love?”</p>
<p>“Mum, I’m not having girl-.”</p>
<p>“Is she pretty? What does she look like? Oh my god, my little Craig is in love!” Mum sighs happily, a dreamy look in her eyes, and nips my cheek with her pointed red fingernails. I decide not to burst her bubble, and tell her all about some non-existent girl based loosely around Carolyn from my French class.</p>
<p>After handing me twenty bucks to take my imaginary girlfriend out for lunch, mum finally leaves me in peace to get ready for the day, and I shake all thoughts of girls from my head, untangling myself from my blankets while wishing they would swallow me up instead.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>When I get to school, I pull my crumpled timetable from my pocket and check to see which classes I have today. A smile tugs the corners of my mouth upwards when I realise I have music first; that makes a pleasant change from the double mathematics I had on Tuesday mornings <em>last </em>year. Pretending that I don’t have Mr Garrison for fifth period, I stuff my timetable back into my jeans carelessly, and make my way to class.</p>
<p>Once I’m safely tucked away in one of the soundproofed music classrooms, I sigh happily. This is possibly the only place in the entire school where I feel completely at ease; no one is going to disturb me here - it’s just me, my bass, and the music. I can forget all about my past and the present, and stop worrying about what the future might hold. Nothing exists beyond the headphones covering my ears, as I plug my guitar into one of the school’s cheap amplifiers, and pull out the first sheet of music I find in my schoolbag.</p>
<p>Picking along to it, I let the notes fill my ears, and almost relaxed by the time the door flies open, hitting against the adjacent wall. I jump, ripping my headphones from the amplifier as I do, filling the room with a warm C chord. I look up, expecting to be met with a beefy jock or my snippy music teacher, but instead I find myself staring into those same green eyes from last night.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Tweek!” I groan, “You scared the shit out of me!”</p>
<p>“Sorry, Craig,” he chuckles, “Just thought I’d come and keep you company, y’know?”</p>
<p>I want to tell him that I’m fine, that music is the only company I need for the next thirty minutes, but I guess it was a nice gesture, so I relent and allow him to sit down nearby and pluck away at his acoustic guitar.</p>
<p>“So,” he speaks again after a while, though I don’t look up from my sheet music, “What happened last night?”</p>
<p>I groan, not wanting to discuss <em>that </em>with <em>him.</em></p>
<p>“Why were you covered in the contents of a bin?” he pushes, and I scowl.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” I growl, plucking a particularly hard note.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Tweek replies, unphased, and I look up to see him flicking his blond hair from his eyes, “It’s cool, man.”</p>
<p>“It’s not ‘cool’,” I grunt, thinking back to the beating I took from Eric and his gang yesterday, knowing they’ll probably be waiting for me today too. “Nothing’s ‘cool’, at all.”</p>
<p>“Woah, dude,” Tweek sets his acoustic guitar down with a twang, “Didn’t mean to upset you. I can walk you home today, if you need my protection from someone?”</p>
<p>“Thanks for the offer,” I glare at him, standing up and gathering my things, “But I think I’ll pass.”</p>
<p>I march out of the room, feeling the boy’s obnoxious green eyes boring into my back, and silently curse the world; first Mr Garrison infiltrates the school, and now this irritating blond has wormed his way into both my home and my music class. In less than a day I’ve lost the three places I feel safest, leaving me raw, exposed and vulnerable.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>When I arrive to fifth period English, I avoid looking at Mr Garrison and instead keep my eyes glued to my desk. I don’t even look up when Clyde drops into the seat beside me and tries to make conversation, answering monotonously to the graffiti scrawled on my desk instead.</p>
<p>“Okay, class, settle down,” Mr Garrison’s voice drawls from the front of the classroom. The conversation dies after a few moments, and I hear the squeak of a marker against the whiteboard as he scribbles something.</p>
<p>“We’re going to be studying a film over the next few weeks,” he announces, and the class murmurs excitedly, “And,” Garrison continues, “I’d like you to decide what film you want. I have-,”</p>
<p>I barely listen, the roar of the class arguing over what to watch seeming suddenly distant. A sharp elbow digs into my ribs painfully, and I realise Clyde is talking to me.</p>
<p>“What one do you want to watch, Craig?” he asks, and I realise I haven’t even registered the two choices.</p>
<p>“Whichever,” I grunt, not looking up from my desk, and there’s an audible change in my friend’s tone.</p>
<p>“Hey, you haven’t looked up from that table all period, dude! What’s up?”</p>
<p>My friend sounds concerned, and I feel bad because, fuck, I can’t tell him, can I? ‘Our English teacher raped me six years ago- <em>yes, </em>I’m sure! No, I’m not crazy!’ It even sounds insane in my head.</p>
<p>“Craig?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine!” I finally look up, not realising I’ve snapped at my friend until silence befalls the room and thirty pairs of eyes are on me and Clyde. I scowl, and offer the room a middle finger until everyone turns back to face the front, and Clyde lowers his voice when he speaks again.</p>
<p>“Craig, you’re acting weird,” he sounds disconcerted, and I roll my eyes. “Has something happened at home?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Is it Eric and his gang? If they’re hassling you again, I could-.”</p>
<p>“No! Clyde, it’s not them, I just… Look, I got the third degree from my mum this morning, I don’t need it from you, too!”</p>
<p>“See!” Clyde smacks his hand down on his desk triumphantly, “Proof that something’s up with you and everyone can tell!”</p>
<p>“Clyde, shut <em>up! </em>Just drop it, please, I’m <em>fine</em>!”</p>
<p>Someone at the front of the room clears their throat, and when I look up I’m met with a glare from Mr Garrison.</p>
<p>“Are you two quite finished?” he sneers, and I feel my cheeks flush a little.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Clyde answers for us, and I stare mindlessly at the whiteboard as whatever film the class has picked for us to watch flickers against it from the projector.</p>
<p>I don’t pay attention to the movie whatsoever, instead using the time to try and think up an excuse for my mum and Clyde, to make them stop probing me with worried questions as I battle through the rest of the school year. You’d think after six years of ‘I’m fine’s, they might have gotten the hint that I just want to be left alone.</p>
<p>As quickly as it had begun, the period ends, and Mr Garrison presses pause on the DVD.</p>
<p>“We’ll watch the rest on Friday,” he informs us, “Now, I just need to pick someone to stay after final bell today.” I watch as he scans the room, and my heart sinks when his eyes land on me. “Craig, since you took such delight in disrupting the start of my lesson, how about you stay back again today?”</p>
<p>Please, no.</p>
<p>“Alright,” I hear myself grumble, and decide that I’ll <em>definitely </em>make a run for it after final bell, today, the thought of being trapped alone with him for a second day making my insides twist painfully.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>“Alright, Craig, seriously; what’s up with you?” Clyde demands at lunch as we’re both tucking into our food, sitting cross legged in a far corner of the sports field. I look up from my sandwich to see him peering at me, looking somehow both concerned and irritated.</p>
<p>“I’m fine!” I insist, waving him off. He raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“You’ve been acting dead weird since English,” he pushes, “C’mon, Craig, you can trust me with anything!”</p>
<p>I sigh deeply, leaning back against the oak tree we’re sitting under and closing my eyes. I want to tell Clyde everything, I really do, but everything is just so <em>complicated</em>, and he would want to help but realistically what can he do? He’s a sixteen year old boy, not a psychiatrist, and certainly not a policeman. There’s nothing he can say to take away the pain that’s stung me for the past six years; he can’t bundle Mr Garrison out of his classroom and into a jail cell so I never have to look at his ugly face again.</p>
<p>Thinking back to the days before my innocence was ripped from me, I find myself wishing that everything was as simple as it felt back then. Surely there were once days where I was happy; where summer vacation felt like it would last for an eternity; where I was excited to wake up every morning, instead of praying feather down blankets would swallow me entirely?</p>
<p>I open my eyes again, to find Clyde still observing me closely. “Craig…?”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>fine</em>, dude,” I insist, “Just drop it, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Craig,” he says eventually, and I pointedly stare down at the soft grass I’m sat upon, “You know you can talk to me… if you ever feel like it. I won’t judge you and I won’t make you, like, speak to a teacher if… if you don’t want me to. That’s what friends are for, right?"</p>
<p>He sounds deeply concerned, and I feel bad, looking up at him and managing to force a weak smile.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Clyde,” I nod slowly, “I just… I don’t want to talk about it right now.”</p>
<p>Thankfully he finally decides to drop the subject, and we eat in silence for a short while, before Clyde starts chattering about some TV show he’s hooked on, and I listen amicably, collapsing onto my back and watching fluffy white clouds drift by in the sky above.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>When the final bell rings, I pointedly leave in the opposite direction of Mr Garrison’s classroom, desperate instead to get home to the comfort of my bed where I can hide from the world until tomorrow morning. Bolting from the school building and down onto the street, I plug my headphones in and allow angry screaming to fill my ears as I skate my troubles away.</p>
<p>I take a longer route home, perhaps in an attempt to avoid Eric and his gang who I run into regardless, ignoring the jeers they throw across the road at me. I’m not in the mood, and maybe they realise this too since they stay on the other side of the street and make do with flipping me off instead of bloodying my nose and tipping rubbish all over my broken body.</p>
<p>Allowing the harsh yelling of my music and the feeling of my skateboard rolling over cracked tarmac to soothe me a little, I don’t catch sight of a small pebble laying abandoned on the pavement until it works its way into the trucks of my board and sends me flying off.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck! Shit!</em>” I swear loudly, feeling the burn of a graze stinging my right knee, and I roll onto my back for a moment to stare up at the late afternoon sky.</p>
<p>“You spend a lot of time on the ground, don’t you?”</p>
<p>My view is suddenly obscured by blond hair and a wide grin, and I groan. Why, <em>why </em>is he suddenly everywhere?</p>
<p>“Came off my board,” I grumble, finally pulling myself to my feet, “No biggie.”</p>
<p>Tweek starts humming, and when I recognise the tune of Avril Lavigne’s ‘Sk8r Boi’ I swat at him.</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>“Can’t I walk you home?” he prods, as I recover my board from where it’s worked its way into the gutter.</p>
<p>“No,” is my answer. <em>Now leave me alone.</em></p>
<p>I push off, and the blond tails after me, “Come on, we can hang out!”</p>
<p>“Tweek,” I say, irritated, “I need to go.”</p>
<p>He sticks his tongue out at me, “If you’re sure, grumpy. See you tomorrow!”</p>
<p>Skating faster, I finally escape his incessant chat, and round the corner onto my street, the peeling brown walls of my mum’s home a welcome sight for sore eyes.</p>
<p>Grateful to make it home without smelling like a waste receptacle, I don’t bother with a shower and instead spend my time plucking away at one of my bass guitars, letting the deep notes warm me and chase away the darker thoughts lurking in the back of my mind. The night belongs to me and the music, and I don’t need to worry about anything until tomorrow, or at least until I find myself laying in my bed staring through the darkness towards my bedroom ceiling, thinking of Mr Garrison, and Eric and his gang, and of two green eyes that had become so familiar in little more than twenty four hours.</p>
<p>Pretending not to notice the tears beginning to prick in my eyes, I clamp them tightly shut. If only things were less… confusing. If I’d found life tough before Mr Garrison decided to take up residence in my high school, it was nothing compared to the weight sinking into my chest now.</p>
<p>I briefly consider moving in with my father, then shake the idea from my mind; things must be bad if I’d rather live with the man who beat my mother to a pulp then left in the dead of night, than in the building that has served as a safe haven for the past six years.</p>
<p>If only everything was simpler.</p>
<p>“Shut the fuck <em>up, </em>brain!” I curse loudly, hearing my mum scolding my language from her own bedroom.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” I groan, quieter this time, grabbing a pillow to wail into, until I fall asleep.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>When I arrive to school, I peek at my timetable and smile; no English class on Wednesdays. I have music first thing after registration though, and happily find myself tucked away in one of the small, soundproofed practice rooms.</p>
<p>Plucking away at my strings, I silently pray I won’t be interrupted today, but only manage to make it halfway through the period before the door creaks open and a familiar voice greets me cheerfully.</p>
<p>“Hey, Craig!” Tweek says, collapsing into one of the free chairs, “Mind if I join you?”</p>
<p>I look up from my instrument, raising an eyebrow in response. He seems to take this as a cue to begin rambling about this and that, and whatever, I’m not particularly interested.</p>
<p>“So, Craig,” he says eventually, after evidently running out of gossip, “How are you feeling today?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” I grunt, strumming mindlessly, not following my sheet music anymore. Maybe it’s a lie, but who cares?</p>
<p>As my fingers dance easily over the fret board I start thinking though; I haven’t been okay for the past six years, and maybe I never will be. Perhaps ‘not okay’ really <em>is</em> my fine.</p>
<p>“So, can I walk you home <em>today</em>?” Tweek pushes, and I roll my eyes.</p>
<p>“What the fuck do you want from me, dude?” I groan, and he shrugs.</p>
<p>“I’d like to see you smile,” he begins, then adds thoughtfully, “And maybe I’d like a wee kiss, too?”</p>
<p>“Good luck with <em>that</em>!” I scowl, grabbing my guitar and stalking out of the room.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>As the end credits begin to roll, Mr Garrison pauses the DVD and stands at the front of the class, placing his hands on his hips.</p>
<p>“Right, next week you’ll be answering some essay questions on the film,” he begins, “But for now you may talk amongst yourselves.”</p>
<p>An animated chatter breaks over the room, while I remain silent, not looking up until Clyde prods me hard in the shoulder.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re fine?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, dude, stop bugging me!”</p>
<p>Maybe my reply is a little too sharp, because Clyde huffs and turns to speak to the guy sitting on his other side, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Resting my head in my hands, I glare down at the shoddily drawn penises on my desk and will the bell to hurry up and ring.</p>
<p>It’s Friday afternoon, and when the shrill screech of the bell finally sounds I’m out of the classroom in a heartbeat. Clyde hangs back to speak to his new friend, and I don’t wait for him, bursting through a set of double doors and down the front steps into the rain.</p>
<p>If I can just make it home without incident, then I suppose I’ve had a relatively successful day. I haven’t been trapped alone with Mr Garrison again (nor did he bother calling me out about my absence the other night), and I managed to avoid Tweek during both music and French class (hopefully he’s finally taken the hint and stopped hounding me).</p>
<p>The wheels of my board splash through puddles as I skate across the bridge, and I think about what I’m going to watch on telly later, and what new music I need to listen to, and anything else that might distract me from the bullshit in my life.</p>
<p>My thoughts feel like a child’s paper-mache mask; thin, glued together with Pritt stick, ready to tear at any given moment as they disguise the darkness in the back of my mind, much like the mask I wear every day. Maybe people think I’m scary; a tough scowling kid, blocking out the world with headphones and a glare, but little do they know the scary can be the most scared.</p>
<p>In reality, I’m as much of a child as I was that night all those years ago, stuck on a still frame in time. Things seemed to slow down as my innocence was ripped away, the world blurring around me on fast forward while I’m forever trapped in the past.</p>
<p>“Look guys! A <em>faggot</em>!”</p>
<p>The sneering jibe from Eric drags me from my thoughts, as he approaches me flanked by Stan and Kyle. I flip him off, skating faster now.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, Cartman!”</p>
<p>“Ewww!” Eric roars with laughter, practically doubled over, “Ew, the fag wants to <em>fuck </em>me! Did you hear that, <em>Kahl</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, dude! Gross!”</p>
<p>Willing that I’ll make it home unscathed, I skate ever faster, three sets of feet hot on my tail. Cold rain fogs my vision as it grows heavier, and my heart sinks when I feel the tight grip of a hand wrapping around my arm.</p>
<p>“Get the fuck off!”</p>
<p>I begin to struggle, trying to wrestle myself free, but the grip doesn’t relent and I resign myself to jutting my chin out and scowling, growing tense in anticipation of the beating.</p>
<p>Another hand grabs my other arm, and I feel Stan and Kyle pulling me back in the direction from which we’d just come, back towards the roaring sound of churning river water.</p>
<p>“You’re going to die, poof!” Eric drawls, and I spit at him as his henchmen drag me along, “Ew! I don’t want AIDS!”</p>
<p>The thundering water and the pelting icy raindrops fog my senses, as I feel two sets of arms pulling me from the ground and over towards the cold metal barriers.</p>
<p>“What the hell are you doing?!” I can hear the panic in my own voice as fear strikes my system.</p>
<p>“Something we should have done a long time ago, freak,” Eric sneers, looking a little frenzied. “Right, boys?”</p>
<p>Kyle and Stan grumble in agreement, tightening their fingers around my skinny arms as they heave my frame over the barrier.</p>
<p>I tangle my legs around the railings, screaming, yelling, thinking of my mum and even my dad, and wondering if these three teenagers could really be so insane as to do this.</p>
<p>The answer is apparently yes, because suddenly the grip on my arms is released and my body falls backwards, the river deafeningly loud below me as I dangle by my legs.</p>
<p>“<em>Stop</em>!” I hear a panicked voice, even over the roaring water. Not Eric, or Stan, or Kyle. “What the fuck are you doing?!”</p>
<p>“The little emo kid is doing himself in,” Eric sniggers, “We’re just, uh, helping!”</p>
<p>“Are you insane?!”</p>
<p>My thighs ache, and I feel myself beginning to slip from the cold railings, one of my feet catching painfully between two of the bars as I go.</p>
<p>“Come on, Cartman!” I hear Kyle’s nasal voice, sounding a little disconcerted, “We better get out of here!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, right. One moment.”</p>
<p>Eric’s face peers down at me from over the barrier, a demented smile plastered on his round, red face.</p>
<p>“Bye, Craig!” he laughs, before grabbing my foot and jerking it free from its trap.</p>
<p>And then I’m falling.</p>
<p>It seems to take forever, as I watch the three take off running, and just before I hit the water I see another face peek over the railings, looking horrified rather than psychotic. It’s Tweek. Of course it is.</p>
<p>As I break the surface of the water, I feel my body seize up, the icy waters overcoming me as quickly as I hit them. I expect my life to flash before my eyes, but it doesn’t and instead I find myself staring into Mr Garrison’s smug, sneering face.</p>
<p>Maybe dying won’t be so bad, after all.</p>
<p>When I finally surface I’ve been carried a considerable way downstream. I can still see the bridge in the distance, and Tweek is still standing there looking thoroughly shaken as he presses his phone to his ear. Then, I’m suddenly dragged around a meander and can’t see him any longer.</p>
<p>I didn’t realise how much comfort the sight of him was providing until I discover I can’t take more than a few shaky breaths at a time, my chest waterlogged and painful from impact with the river, and finally the gravity of the situation finally hits me. I try to fight the water, but it overcomes my weary frame easily and I eventually allow it to pull me down further, past muddy banks strewn with reeds and takeaway cartons.</p>
<p>As the river flows onwards, my body adjusts to the temperature and I suddenly feel very warm, trying not to think about the possibility of hypothermia. No matter how much I try to swim, the water always wins and I concentrate on staying afloat, searching for something, anything to grab hold of to pull myself from the dark waters.</p>
<p>What feels like hours later, I catch sight of a low hanging tree branch, and with everything left in me I fight against the rapids and swim over to it, extending my arm and grabbing wildly, missing every time. Just a little further…</p>
<p>Then, suddenly I can’t swim anymore.</p>
<p>Panicking, I try to free my foot from whatever it’s gotten caught in, feeling the rapids set to work tugging me under the icy water. Flailing, exhausted, I yell out, “Fuck!”, still trying to untangle myself while keeping my head above the surface.</p>
<p>Eventually though, I can’t fight anymore, and give in to the cold, dark water.</p>
<p>The last thing I register before I black out is the thundering of the river, and the cold, dark eyes that have haunted me for so many years flashing through my vision one final time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Those are some hardcore bullies! I hope these chapters aren't too long but I found this was better as one instead of two shorter chapters!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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